Morning Jog
by keru.m
Summary: A morning jog, a tumble, an encounter, a fight, a resolution. Different take on the postferry fallout.


Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, show, etc.

A/N: Post-ferry but things happen very differently. I started this with one idea in mind, but then another idea arm wrestled with the first and achieved a partial victory. A third idea then threw it's name in the hat. So if the story seems a bit convoluted, don't blame me, it was all the ideas' fault. And that of this cursed virus that has me its delirious throes. I just hope this is coherent.

**Morning Jog**

Harm got out of his car to find Mac already warming up in preparation for their morning jog. It was by all means a beautiful day: the sky was a clear blue, dotted by a few cumulus clouds, the air was crisp with only a cool undercurrent hinting at the impending autumn, birds were happily chirping away, traffic had been light, it was Saturday and he was meeting Mac for a morning jog. He couldn't help but put a light spring to his step as he made his way to her. Two weeks ago, he noticed a distinct change in her behaviour from the formal, polite distance she had maintained since Sydney and the blasted ferry conversation one month previous. She seemed to be letting him in again, at least as a friend. Finally. He supposed that she had a right to be stand-offish after he turned her down that night. He forced his mind to abandon that line of thought. He had obstinately refused to think about all that since it had happened. Truth be told, her words had shocked the hell out of him and he still couldn't seem to find his footing. That she thought of him in exactly the way he so craved, and yet exactly the way that brought all his fears of commitment and intimacy to the forefront was petrifying. He had always thought that when the time came for them he would at least have had a speech prepared. Maybe one that outlined pros and cons, mixed in a bit with those passionate pleas he was so skilled at. Instead, it was all too sudden. So he had fallen back on his tried-and-true method of emotional retreat. If only he had had the courage not to back down and the foresight to see the month-long fallout of his actions...

He shook his head and banished those thoughts to the back-burner of his mind. He and Mac were on great terms right now. Almost like old times, in fact, and he would not mess things up by bringing up the ferry and all that he wanted and feared. It was too nice a day to steep in regrets. Whatever was going on in her head, he was relieved she had accepted his offer for a morning jog, and that was that. Maybe he would try and convince her to have breakfast with him after their run.

"Hey, Mac! Beautiful day, isn't it?" he thought he may have sounded more enthusiastic than his usual self for so early on a Saturday morning, but decided not to care.

Mac studied him curiously, a smile in her eyes. "You are chipper. Have an exciting night?"

He wanted to tell her that he was actually looking forward to a really exciting morning. "Hardly," he shrugged, "finished some overdue paperwork, paid some bills, played some guitar. But it is a beautiful morning, isn't it?"

She looked around the entrance to their usual jogging trail and nodded. "It is," she turned to him and grinned, "now start warming up so we can get a move on."

He smiled at her good mood, she hadn't been like this around him in too long. "How about we just start at a slow pace instead," he didn't want to waste time stretching when the jogging trail was calling his name.

Mac frowned. "Harm, the last time you skipped stretching, you pulled a calf muscle. Do you want to go through that again?" She didn't give him a chance to interject. "At least have the decency of not putting me through the agony of hearing you whine for days on end about the pain."

"I do not whine. Not about pain," he lifted his chin in indignation. She was about to reply with some no doubt witty comeback, he could see it in her eyes. He had to preempt her so he broke out in a slow jog and headed towards the entrance to the trail. He cast her a look over his shoulder and saw that she was shaking her head, "are you coming, Mac?"

As he entered the trail, Mac joined him and adjusted to his slower pace. There was a familiarity to the situation that warmed his heart. He loved that they could so seamlessly fall into their old rhythm. He took a deep, contented breath full of fresh air. It was indeed a beautiful day for a jog and some good company.

"How was your night?"

"Alright," she sounded distinctly uncomfortable.

He glanced at her, that struck him as an evasive answer. "Just alright? What did you do?"

"Not much..." she mumbled something he could not hear.

"What was that?" he wanted to laugh at her odd behaviour. She was embarrassed about something. How intriguing. He was going to prod this out of her and then tease her about it. Another step in regaining their old relationship. This day was just getting better and better.

"Let's race."

"Don't change the subject, Marine! Come on, you can tell me," he tried to sound understanding and non-judgmental.

"It's no big deal, Harm," she hesitated before rushing the words out, "I went on a blind date."

He momentarily lost his rhythm and almost tripped over his own feet. The effort he had to put into compensating for his misstep strained his calf and he suddenly felt a dull pain in the muscle. Dammit. He would die before he admitted it to her, though. But what was this about a blind date?

"How did this happen? Why would you need to go on a blind date?" There, that didn't sound like he was grilling her. He hoped. What he really wanted to know was how did this happen without him knowing about it. And why would she need to go on a blind date when she had him? He paused for a moment at that thought. 'She had him'? What exactly did she think she have in him? A friend, for all intents and purposes, and not much more. Especially after the ferry. But couldn't she see that she was so much more to him? For god's sake, he had never worked so hard to save his relationship with another woman, and only to regain her friendship. And now that they were back to their old selves and he was trying to figure out how and when to continue the ferry conversation, this time with a rehearsed speech, she was out there going on blind dates!

"A friend from law school whom I've been in touch with off and on just got married," her tone indicated how reluctant she was to have this conversation. "You know how it goes," he heard a trace of wistfulness in her voice, "she's so happy and thinks everyone else should be as well. I'm one of her few single friends," now a trace of sadness, "and she wanted to jump start my lo- umm, well she wanted to send me out on a date. So she hooked me up. With her brother who is in DC for the next few of months on business."

Why the hell did she agree to this? "Ah. Did you," he tried not to sound too concerned, "have a good time?"

"Harm, I had really rather not talk about it," there was a definite note of finality in her tone.

What was that supposed to mean? Suddenly, every step on their jog resonated in his heart with the finality of a ticking clock. Time was running out for them while he was busy trying to figure 'yet' out. It exasperated him at times how quickly Mac could move. Couldn't she give him some time, cut him some slack? Apparently not. Forget the back-burner of her mind, she had thrown him out into the compost heap. He obviously had to stop this blind date business and fast. He glanced over at her, wondering how he could broach the subject when the gentle sway of her hair as she jogged caught his attention. It looked so soft, brushing against the nape of her neck, her bangs gently resting on her forehead...He slowed down his pace so that he was slightly behind her - by the look of concentration on her face, she would not notice - and unconsciously began to indulge in his favourite activity: Mac watching. There was no denying that she was absolutely gorgeous, but what amazed him was how everything about her was a feast for the eyes. And when they went jogging she wore the absolute shortest shorts. He could think about how to woo her and admire her humour and character and intelligence and all that when she was fully clothed, but in short shorts...

He watched her jogging slightly ahead of him and tried not to be too obvious in his study of her legs. Since he had met her, in fact, he had spent many hours trying not to be too obvious in his dedicated and studious admiration of her legs, arms, eyes, smile, shoulders, hair, face, hands, feet, elbows, wrists-

"Harm! Watch out!"

The warning came too late to pull his less than chivalrous thoughts away from her form - and he hadn't even gotten to the good parts - and towards the crew of mom-and-tots joggers that was approaching them at a quick pace.

"Shit!" he tried valiantly to swerve and avoid running into the large, all-terrain strollers, the mothers pushing them and the babies occupying them. He only ended up running into the jumble of thickets and roots and sundry that tended to grow in the as of yet untamed parts of DC's jogging trails. The thickets scratched his legs, the roots caused him to trip and fall face down into the sundry that then proceeded to scratch his arms and face. The experience was, it is needless to say, painful.

He groaned and decided it was best to lay in the dirt for awhile. Not because everything hurt like hell. Not because he wanted to safeguard whatever dignity he may have had left by not letting the group of mothers and toddlers see his face or his current state of dishevelment. Not at all. He would lie here for a bit because he had never really enjoyed the wonders of nature from this angle before. Who knew the trees here were so tall.

"Is he alright? Shall we get some help?" his intense study of the deciduous arbour that was sheltering him from shame (the mothers were bound to use this as after-dinner conversation) and ridicule (Mac was bound to mercilessly tease) was rudely interrupted by an unfamiliar, female voice. One of the mothers, no doubt. He hoped Mac would safeguard his honour, although he knew she was more likely to engage in a marathon ribbing session.

"I'm sure he's fine. Just a bruised ego." Let the games begin.

"If you're sure..."

"Absolutely. I'll go dig him out. Enjoy the rest of your run."

He heard the group of joggers continue down the trail, followed by a rustling of leaves and branches and some soft footsteps.

"Harm?" The footsteps neared and he raised himself into a seated position. "Ah, there you are." Her face came into view and he couldn't help but give a sheepish smile.

"Are you alright?" she looked genuinely concerned, so he evaluated his game plan. Option A: play the macho it's-just-a-scratch role. That would require a bit of swagger and they could continue their run. However, he wasn't sure if he could pull that off given the still-present dull pain in his calf. And Mac was not the type to appreciate a finely practiced macho swagger. Plan B: play the it-really-does-hurt-but-I-can-handle-it role. Downside: Mac would take him at his word and he would be forgoing being the focus of her gentle concern. Upside: she would probably find his silent strength admirable. Plan C: play the it-really-does-hurt-but-I-can-handle-it role and add some extra grunts of pain and a slight limp. Then she would admire his (not-so-silent) strength and, knowing her, insist on patching him up.

Plan C it was.

"Yeah," insert grunt of pain, "nothing I can't handle. Just," insert deep, exaggerated breath, "give me a minute."

She crouched down beside him and looked at his face. He felt her finger trace a line on his forehead, leaving a warm tingle in its trail. "You have a pretty bad scratch there." She pulled her hand away and rested it on her knee, he tried not to sigh in disappointment, "it makes you look kind of rakish," she grinned.

If she was joking around he might have to lay it on a bit thicker or she would never see the need to nurse him back to health.

"Well, fair maiden, give this rake a hand," he put out his hand and made to stand up. She took it and as she pulled him up, he added some stiffness to his actions and, feeling some blood trickling down his arm, turned his elbow slightly so that the blood was in her line of sight.

"Harm! Your elbow!" he was close, he could feel it.

"It's alright, Mac," insert slight wince, "just stings a bit," he swayed on his feet.

"I don't know, Harm. I think we should get you to a first aid kit. I have one in my car."

Bull's eye.

"Mac..." he tried to sound reluctant - a difficult task since is inner-self was doing an enthusiastic victory jig.

"Harm." She sounded firm. Excellent. Just a bit more and maybe she would insist on following him to his place.

"Well, if it makes you feel better." That might have been laying it on a bit too thick. She would never fall for that line from him.

"If it makes me feel better?" she emphasized the 'me' and eyed him curiously, brow furrowed. Not a good sign. However, her one hand was still holding his and the other was on his forearm. Definite good sign. He could still get this situation back on track. He swayed slightly and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Let's get you back to the cars," concern won out over suspicion. Go, Harm! He modestly patted himself on the back.

She helped him back to the cars and he winced and grunted more than was necessary. Maybe too much more than was necessary because he finally heard her, half amused, half exasperated, say "Aw, poor Harmy," she left him leaning on the hood of her car while she unlocked the doors and took the first aid kit out of the glove compartment. "Suck it up, Navy. It's just a few scratches."

"Scratches don't bleed profusely, Mac." He should have learned from the pulled-calf incident and known better than to appeal to her nurturing instincts by playing up his - he could be honest with himself - rather minor injuries. He so should have gone for the oh-it's-nothing macho male act. Stupid miscalculation. He paused in berating himself over poor strategy when he realized she had used a nickname on him. 'Harmy'. He wasn't quite sure if he liked it, surely she could come up with something better. That was hardly masculine enough. Maybe 'Harmo'. Yes, Harmo, that sounded really male. Or just stick with Harm. That sounded dangerous. Fit him well, really.

She raised her eyebrow at his hyperbole. "Profusely?"

He ignored her tone and opted to wince some more. He surreptitiously glanced at her and happily noted that she was now frowning in concern.

"Does it really sting?"

He shook his head, "nah," now that he had her attention, he could afford to put in some macho.

She sighed as she opened the first-aid kit and took out some cotton swabs, disinfectant and band-aids. He watched in eager anticipation as she put some disinfectant on a swab and applied it gently to the open wound - it was really only a scratch - on his elbow. That felt good. Ouch, no wait that burned. A lot. Motherf-

"Harm! There are kids around, you can't swear!"

He looked around mildly surprised, had he really said that out loud? The group of mother-and-tots joggers were now milling around the parking lot, packing the tots into their cars and minivans. He was embarrassed to note that a great many of them were glaring daggers at him. He tried to look apologetic and chastised for their benefit. So much for his dignity.

Another sharp pain shot out from his leg. Sh-

"Harm! It can't hurt that much," she shot him a frustrated look. "I know you've been through worse."

"Maybe. But at least they had the decency to give me some drugs. Or put me under. Ow!" he flinched as she applied her devil's brew to the scratch on his forehead.

"Harm, I'm almost done, alright?" her voice was soft and cajoling and his attention was diverted from the stinging on his forehead to her eyes and lips which were only inches from his own. What if he were to lean just a little forward now? Gently press his lips against hers? They looked so soft and pliant - Ow! She was putting more of the satanic concoction on his forehead. Well, that killed the moment.

"Geez, Mac! I think that's enough."

She leaned back from him, her face a mask of contemplative surprise, "you know, Squid, you have the most pathetic threshold for pain I have ever seen."

He frowned at her. Yes, trying to bring out Nursemaid Mac from deep inside the impregnable armour of Marine Mac was definitely the wrong way to go. He ignored her needling and focused instead on the pain in his calf. It really was hurting. He flexed his leg and winced - this time genuinely."Calf hurt?" he couldn't detect any mockery so he decided to run with it.

He nodded, "slightly. Feels like a slight cramp."

"Here," she knelt down and gently pulled off his shoe - oh, god, he hoped his foot didn't reek too much of sweat, well, unless she found the scent of man-sweat appealing - and placed her hands on his heel and the back of his leg, "let me have a look." She applied some gentle pressure to try and relax the muscles.

"Oh," he murmured and she looked up his face only to see that his eyes were closed and his expression was as near rapturous as she had ever seen it, "that feels good."

The effect her ministrations were having on him momentarily got the better of her, "there?" She slightly increased the pressure she was putting on his leg.

"Mmm. Don't stop." She really liked the way that sounded coming from him. What else could she make him say in that tone of voice? As soon as the thought registered, she felt incredibly uncomfortable with the situation they were in. It all seemed so...intimate. And wrong. They did not touch each other in this way, he had made that much clear to her. Stupid Sydney. What had she been thinking. The desire to give in to the less-than-platonic feelings that had planted their seed a few months into their partnership had gotten the better of her. And as soon as she had said the words out loud, she could see in his eyes that he would not want anything long term with her. So she had tried to reach for the dredges of intimacy. No strings attached. Even that was out of the question. Probably, she figured, to preserve their working relationship. The whole situation brought up the long-fought insecurities that had her under their spell for far too long. She would just have to set her sights lower. Not everyone deserved to have their unrequited love returned. The need to break this intimate moment before he realized what was happening hit her with renewed urgency. So she gave one final squeeze before letting go of his leg.

He looked down at her, frowning slightly, "why did you stop?"

"I'm not your personal masseuse, Harm," she said matter-of-factly and turned to put away the first aid supplies.

He leaned back against the hood of the car and watched her, wishing he could be on the receiving end of her ministrations more often. There was something about her that made him feel like everything was bathed in a perpetual sunrise. That the world was pink and orange, shimmering and aglow; buildings, trees, sidewalks, grass, the air, his heart. He watched the slender curve of her wrist as she packed the disinfectant back into the first aid kit, the dark glimmer of her eyes as she collected the band-aids that were now strewn across the hood of her car, the delicate length of her fingers as she shut the first-aid kit. He was pulled from his daydreaming with a slight start, and much more guilt, when he saw her eyes were carefully watching him, soft and curious and wary.

"Want to grab some breakfast?"

Her brow furrowed at his words. She must have been expecting him to say something else.

"Alright," she shrugged and then paused, a look of excitement suddenly overrunning her features. "But at my place. I found this incredible bakery last night. It had the most amazing stuff. I went a little nuts in there," she looked away sheepishly before returning her gaze to his, the excitement once again in place, "and I have been looking forward to breakfast for ages!"

He laughed in genuine amusement and fleetingly wondered what bakeries were located around his neighbourhood. "Your place it is. I'll follow you."

"Great!" She put out her hand to once again help him stand and he more than gladly took it.

"Sarah?!"

Her hand left his as they both turned around at the sound of her name being called out in a deep baritone. A man dressed in jogging shorts and a tight t-shirt made his way towards them. Harm noted that the stranger was in excellent shape: his body was toned, biceps slightly bulging, shoulders broad, abdomen flat, legs muscled. Harm looked down at Mac who was also admiring the stranger's physique. She looked quite surprised and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "hid it well under his suit." Mac knew this guy? Harm sucked in his gut a bit, pushed his shoulders back and stood straighter. He considered the stranger a bit more - he had light brown hair and sickeningly green eyes - before taking a step closer to Mac all the while praying she would not notice his slightly territorial stance.

"Neil." So she did know him. "How are you?"

Harm noted that Neil was smiling broadly at Mac, "the day is suddenly looking up," Harm rolled his eyes at that. What a cheap line.

He glanced at Mac only to see a slight blush rise to her cheeks. What the hell? She was falling for that? He could do so much better. In fact, he himself had said something similar to her earlier and she hadn't even reacted.

"Um, so," Mac now looked slightly pleased and a little embarrassed, "you're jogging outdoors for a change?" Neil nodded, Mac smiled, Harm frowned.

"How do you like it?" there was a definite lilt to her voice. She was not flirting with this guy.

"It's great. Thanks for recommending this trail." Neil's smile, if possible, widened further. Mac shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Harm looked at Mac, mouth slightly agape. She recommended _their_ trail to this - his brain searched for the word - this scum? How did she know him? He tried to calculate the odds of him successfully thrashing this Neil guy in a fistfight.

"I'm Harm." There, that sounded alright. And mighty threatening.

Neil and Mac both turned to look at him, mildly surprised.

"Oh, sorry. Neil, this is Harm, my partner at JAG and good friend. Harm, this is Neil, brother of a friend from law school."

This was the blind date? While attempting to digest that distasteful thought, Harm stood still a little taller and put out his hand, "Lt. Commander Harmon Rabb Jr." That had to sound mildly intimidating, at least to a civilian. Harm pointedly avoided looking at Mac, sure that she was not pleased with his self-introduction.

"Senior Detective Neil Damos," he looked at Mac and winked, "the Third. Nice to meet you," Neil took Harm's offered hand and Harm watched in dismay as Mac chuckled slightly at Neil Dumbass's rejoinder. What the hell. That was about as funny as a cow chewing cud.

"I'd better get going. Sarah, I had a great time last night," Neil glanced uncomfortably towards Harm before plodding along, "I look forward to hearing from you." And then, to Harm's complete and utter shock, Neil bent forward and placed a kiss on Mac's cheek. She turned bright red and mumbled some goodbye as Neil turned and jogged away. Harm watched dumbly as Neil, when he was about 10 feet away from them, threw a look over his shoulder and waved slightly at Mac.

Harm and Mac watched Neil jog away, standing knee-deep in the discomfort left by the encounter. She was nervously playing with her fingers while Harm was trying to take deep calming breaths. That Neil guy had kissed Mac! In front of him!

"Well," he cleared his throat, "the blind date seems to have gone well," he tried not to sound resentful.

"Can we just go eat some breakfast," she rolled her eyes and tried to sound playfully exasperated instead of genuinely impatient.

He turned to look at her, the image of Neil kissing her still fresh in his mind. Harm suddenly felt a surge of protectiveness and anger rush through his veins and drown his good judgment. Who the hell did Neil think he was?

"Why did you need to go out on a date? And a blind date? What were you thinking?"

"What?" He had never seen Sarah Mackenzie gobsmacked before. For some reason, her utter lack of comprehension about what he was trying to say irritated him further.

"Mac! Why would you go out on a blind date? You don't need to put yourself out there! For god's sake, you have me." he froze at the words that came out of his unthinking mouth. That sounded incredibly stupid once exposed to sound waves and the unyielding light of day. Maybe now was the time to fall back on his timeless method for getting out of verbal jams: the backpedal.

"I mean, umm..." how the hell would he backpedal out of this one, though? He cursed himself for not thinking his strategy through. What purpose did Annapolis serve if he couldn't even strategize properly. And it didn't help that she was looking at him eyes wide with shock and mouth hanging open with surprise.

He paused a moment too long and her eyes went from shocked to angry. He braced himself.

"'Put myself out there'?" her eyes narrowed further, "and what exactly do you mean by I have you, Lt Commander Harmon Rabb Jr?" she spat his name out in a way that made him cringe. "If I recall correctly, you're the one," she pointed an accusing finger at him, "who said you 'couldn't let go' just a few weeks ago."

"Umm, Mac, listen, just now, I was out of-"

"Dammit, Harm!" she turned her back to him for a moment before looking him in the eye once again. He noticed that the fire was gone from her demeanour, replaced only by wavering confidence and silent regret. "It was hard enough to accept your decision on the blasted ferry and the whole situation was more than a little embarrassing for me without you rubbing it in. I'm trying to accept it and move on. Without weighing our friendship down in awkwardness. You just, well, let me try and get over it, okay? In my own way."

In her own way? "So that includes dating complete strangers - at night?"

"That's generally what a date implies," her vitriolic sarcasm gnawed at the already frayed tatters of his self-control.

"Stupid, Mac," he infused his comments with condescension, as if she were some wayward teenager, "they could do god knows what to you, think you're offering things not suitable for public mention-" he stopped himself. Had he really just said that out loud? He wondered if he could run fast enough to out-pace the regret he knew would now shadow him, shaped like the look of hurt etched on Mac's features. Maybe if he bleached his stupid mouth clean it would think twice before following through on orders from his inconsiderate, impulsive brain.

They stared at each other for a moment until he she found her voice. Her words crested on anger, foamed with a harshness that ran like ice through his veins, "Who the hell do you think you are? I am trying, dammit, to get through this without doing anything stupid which, according to you," her eyes glittered in the sunlight and he was reminded of the black obsidian that formed in the wake of volcanic eruptions, "is my modus operandi. At least I didn't accept Mic's proposal."

His brain double-backed on that last comment so quickly he was sure he could be diagnosed with mental whiplash. Mic's what?

"Mic's what?" the frustration and fear disappeared from his voice, leaving it cracking in a way that had been foreign to his ears since choir practice at age 14.

It was her turn to look as though bleaching her tongue was a pretty sound course of action. She finally broke their gaze and glanced nervously at the trees around the parking lot. Black obsidian was replaced by the same soft, sad brown that had haunted his dreams since Sydney.

Why was she not answering. Mic-Jackass-Brumby had proposed to her? But she had not accepted, that was what she said, wasn't it?

"You didn't accept, right?" there was that infuriating crack in his voice again.

Her eyes fastened on his again, anger and exasperation holding a temporary truce.

She still did not say anything. But she couldn't have. Engaged people didn't go on blind dates, did they? He'd never been engaged, but he was pretty sure he'd never been on a blind date with someone else's fiancee.

"Mac..." he had never before thought that anticipation would be what killed him.

She slowly lowered her head and shook it from side to side.

"No," her words were so soft he had to lean forward slightly and hold his breath to hear her. "As tempting as it was, I thought for once that maybe he," she paused and considered her words before adding, "and I, deserved more than a long-distance, rebound relationship. And it was too soon, he wasn't...well, it probably wouldn't have worked."

The relief he felt was so potent he had to catch his breath. What was it with all these men staking claims on her? And all now? He had been on missions that were less harrowing, less fraught with obstacles and projectiles - in the shape of interloping males - than this relationship of their's that was so foreign to him in its warmth and affection and caring.

"Oh," he was still trying to tame the relief that was reeking havoc on his lungs. "Thank goodness."

Mac threw her hands up in exasperation, what did the man want from her? Not her, but not her to move on from him, either. What a self-absorbed jerk! He could be such an ass! She would teach the basta-

"Mac!" Harm was glancing furtively across the parking lot and whispering through clenched teeth, "Otnay in front of the idskay."

Had she said that out loud? And was that Pig Latin? As if they didn't have enough trouble understanding each other. She thought she would burst with frustration, a giant balloon sputtering a confetti of anger and disappointment all over the tots who probably slept through the stupid jog anyways. So she yelled the only invective that came to mind as being G-rated: "ARGH!"

"Mac, calm down, please?"

He was telling her to calm down? He was lucky her tire iron was safely tucked away in the trunk of her car. He must have noted the rebellion brewing in her because he put his arms up, palms out, to placate her.

"I'm sorry," he rushed his words out, not giving her time to do anything but stand there and listen. "For everything. For what I said just now. For what I said on the ferry. I just needed time-"

He wanted time? Time? And what in the name of globes and anchors did that mean? She felt the childish need to stamp her feet in frustration.

"-to let the idea of dating you sink in..."

Sink in? Was his brain all of a sudden poorly risen dough? She put her hands on her hips and eyed him with skepticism and disbelief. How that head of his worked, she would never understand.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "This is not anything I ever thought I'd find myself doing," the urge to pace was making his feet itch.

What was he going on about now? She watched him step closer to her and gently take her hands in his.

"What? Date me?" she couldn't help but raise her voice and try to pull away from him.

"No!" he tightened his grasp on her hands. His voice was gentle as the breeze rustling the leaves around them, "Want from any woman what I want from you."

He was looking at her, head lowered, eyebrows raised, tentative and hopeful, afraid of her reaction yet almost relieved that he had said the words out loud.

"Ah." That maybe made some sense. Kind of. "And, umm, what do you want from me?"

The million-dollar question. She did not know whether to be confused by their entire exchange or happy. Whenever she was around him, she had the distinct sense that some pages were missing from the book they were meant to be reading, leaving them to continuously struggle to catch the thread of the plot. But it was still a favourite book of hers, even with all the crossed out words and belated add-ons, with the smudges and marks, the missing words and note-filled margins, with all the superfluous details and all the things left unsaid.

He leaned forward until she could feel his breath on her lips. "You, Sarah. Just you. Only you. All of you."

Scratch that last thought. She was definitely happy.

Then his lips were on hers and his arms were around her upper back and shoulder blades. She leaned into his kiss and he shifted slightly to accommodate her. Suddenly, he jerked back, "Ow, motherf-"

"HARM! The kids!" She looked at him in exasperation and shook her head. That killed the mood.

He hung his head and sighed before raising his eyes to hers. "Next time, I warm up before we jog."

She nodded, her hands on his waist.

"Breakfast?"

Her entire face lit up and she nodded enthusiastically. He vowed to himself that the next time she looked that excited it would be after he kissed her and not after he suggested they eat breakfast.

A thought struck him.

"Neil is never going on another date with you."

She smiled impishly, "Neil who?"

He grinned. It was definitely a beautiful day.

The End.


End file.
